Chapter Thirty-Four
Thirty-Four
Rashad and Jamilah enjoyed the city’s New Year fireworks from her plate glass windows.
Unfortunately, the explosions didn’t end after the countdown from ten to one.
For the next two months, Rashad learned more about real estate, leasing, renovation, and equipment than he thought he’d ever want to know.
Turned out getting the investors was the easy part.
When the owner heard about Rashad’s plans of ex-criminals being rehabilitated through employment, he balked at giving him a lease, even one that came with a clause to pay one year in advance.
This was to get around Rashad not having a credit history or established bank account.
Even after Tyson agreed to cosign, the owner hesitated.
In the end it was Yuchen Wang and Bo Peng who settled matters. They bought the building.
The morning Rashad met with the real estate agent and got the keys to the space, everything became surreal.
Jamilah asked if he wanted her to come with him, but he said no.
The journey from prison to adjunct property owner hadn’t happened in a vacuum, but those initial dreams had happened when he was alone.
That’s how he wanted to enjoy this moment. By himself.
Anyone entering that corner space on a block in its infancy of gentrification would have seen a discarded old building with little to offer.
Rashad saw the opposite. He saw the wooden floors, now covered in dust, dirt, and all kinds of trash, clean and polished.
Same with the long bar with the broken mirror behind it.
Rashad saw a refurbished anchor of the room, a granite top, a brightly tagged backsplash.
He envisioned ragtag furniture and seating arrangements.
Benches mixed with chairs. Tables in different shapes and designs.
A hodgepodge of furniture mirroring the diverse crowd and experiences he hoped to draw in.
Everywhere he looked, Rashad saw potential.
Thanks to Mr. Turner’s connections, renovations got underway rather quickly.
He’d worked in KC for decades and knew some of everybody.
Permits, licenses, and other administrative paperwork bypassed the usual channels.
It didn’t mean life was a cakewalk. The worlds of real estate, construction, and retail spaces were not for the faint of heart.
For men like Rashad, who’d survived the streets and prison, too, there was no mountain that could not be climbed… or moved.
When he brought Jamilah over the following Thursday morning, it was harder for her to see his vision.
“I could never start from scratch like this,” she all but whispered, clearly overwhelmed. “The place next door had already been renovated. My contribution was light fixtures and paint.
“If anyone can pull this off, Ra God, it’s you. Your tenacity, intelligence, and self-determination will be more than enough to see it through.”
Her words, especially using his rap name, were wind beneath his wings. Rashad’s confidence soared, as did his growing and deepening feelings for Jamilah. So much so, that he invited her to his next meeting with Mr. Turner.
“I wanted you to meet my business partner,” he said proudly, leading Jamilah into Mr. Turner’s office, a space made small by the amount of books, newspapers, magazines, and papers that covered every surface except the chairs. There were even stacks on the floor.
“Jamilah Carver. Nice to meet you,” Jamilah said, hand outstretched.
“Likewise.” Mr. Turner’s look, while respectable, was also admiring. “Are you the brains behind all this brawn?”
“At least a good ninety percent,” Jamilah quickly responded with so much authority Rashad laughed out loud.
“I’m just kidding. Rashad has an eye for aesthetics and a head for marketing and business. My restaurant, Side Chic’k, is better with him as head chef.”
“How is everything progressing?” Mr. Turner asked, once they sat down.
“Feels like two steps forward and three back sometimes. Having the paperwork handled helps out a lot. But there are shipping delays, supply shortages. We’ve had to continually tweak the drawings based on what materials we can get.
At the end of the month, Tyson is going to relocate here temporarily until we get past the main obstacles. ”
“After this week, I should have some good news to help the bad go down better. I have a meeting scheduled with a buddy of mine over at the Department of Corrections to go over your proposal. No doubt he’ll bring in a few others from city government, maybe the county.
“I’m glad you two are working together,” he continued, his eyes now on Jamilah.
“We have a growing number of women in these detention centers and jails. They need to see a path as well. Business owners like you are perfect for lighting the way. I’m sure you already know that, though. James must be proud of you.”
Jamilah did not try to hide her surprise. “You know my father?”
“I do.”
“Mr. Turner knows everybody,” Rashad proudly announced.
“How do you know my dad?”
“You might say we grew up together. I’m a few years older. But we came from the same small Kansas town. Knew his family. His daddy.”
He turned to Rashad. “How do the two of you get along? Considering that you work with his daughter, I’m assuming you’ve met.”
“Unfortunately.”
Jamilah was quick to defend her dad. “His view isn’t personal. It’s based on what he’s seen on paper. He doesn’t really know Rashad.”
“He considers anyone whose been to prison a bad influence that she shouldn’t hang around,” Rashad added.
Mr. Turner steepled his fingers, looked over his glasses, and eyed Jamilah closely. “You ever meet your granddaddy?”
“I think once, when I was really young. But he died a long time ago. Daddy never mentions him or any of the family really, other than those I know here.”
“He never told you why he became a policeman?”
She slowly shook her head. “He’s never told me and, Mr. Turner, for all my life that’s a question that I’ve never thought to ask.”
“You should ask him,” Mr. Turner suggested. “And about your granddaddy. It’ll give you a better understanding of his reaction toward this young man and others like him.
“Meanwhile, I have a boring meeting to attend that’ll put me to sleep.” Mr. Turner shuffled papers as he prepared to leave. “I’ll let you know how next week’s meeting turns out.”
“Thanks for all your help, Mr. Turner.”
Rashad and Jamilah watched the mentor turn and walk toward his car before heading to theirs parked across the street.
The ride was quiet as they headed toward Side Chic’k. “Are you going to ask your father about his father?”
Jamilah looked out the window. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t? Sounds to me like it’s some important information, some history about your family that you don’t know about.”
“Maybe I don’t want to know,” Jamilah testily replied. “Maybe it’s better not knowing, which is why Daddy never told me.”
Rashad snuck a glance at Jamilah, watched as the family narrative James had probably concocted now threatened to unravel. It hurt to think that Jamilah would rather live a lie than know the truth because the truth might expose a hypocritical father.
“Would it be so bad to find out your family isn’t perfect? To learn there may be a hardhead or two swinging off one of those tree branches?”
Jamilah turned even more toward the window. Rashad let it go, but the conversation was far from over. If Jamilah didn’t ask her dad about what Mr. Turner said, Rashad most definitely would.